


Changing Tides

by Mssilverwoods



Category: The Durrells (TV)
Genre: Cheers up a bit later, England - Freeform, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, second world war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:08:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21616594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mssilverwoods/pseuds/Mssilverwoods
Summary: I'm predicting a mini epic with lots of chapters that I hope you'll enjoy. MAYBE NOT my last fic but it will have cheerful bits and some sad stuff. Thank you in advance for kudos and comments!
Relationships: Louisa Durrell/Spiros Halikiopoulos
Comments: 29
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We begin after The Picnic.

Spiro collapses on the running board of his taxi unable to walk into his house. Oh, he can, of course, physically there’s nothing wrong with him. Tangled hearts, the guilt of sitting outside a place he once called home, he is confused by the absence of guilt that he doesn’t feel for straying into Louisa’s arms. 

He knows what to expect inside this dark, heavy door. Another row that will make his sons scared of their parents. It is this habitual turn of events means he has to leave. It is an affliction he has brought on himself and one he could have avoided had he torn himself away from the Durrell family, or rather Louisa Durrell but he cannot bear to throw away love in a time of impending war. This revelation has oddly brought him back to this door he once recognised, but he has seen as a barrier since that day his wife slammed it behind her and went to her family in Athens with his sons.

Around him people go about their business. Ouzo is poured in the taverna, doorsteps are swept and washing is hung out to dry. He hears his children asking his wife if they can see him. The door cracks open and two pairs of eyes peek out. He’s subjected to an avalanche of hugs before the woman he once thought of as his wife appears and calls them inside, telling them to get back into bed. Sensing the usual tension, they scamper indoors.

‘I had forgotten what your taxi looked like, I suppose you have been out with Mrs Durrell?’ Dimitra observes as she finds the man she married looking better than she had hoped. She wished him broken, drunk and unshaven, in need of rescuing, but he is none of those things and she’s faintly irritated by him.

She sighs and perches neatly next to him, a rare event. She’s a reluctant passenger, always frustrated by the taxi, and his choice of job. Before the arrival of Louisa and her awful family, their discourse had been over Corfu and her desire to live with her family in Athens and earn a better living in their olive farms. She hesitates now, unwilling to draw attention to her time there, for that holds secrets. She settles on; ‘I know I haven’t been perfect.’

‘You left me first,’ Spiro mutters ungraciously. They were ships in the night before then and despite Louisa’s assumption that he has a full bed, it’s a spare bed for almost four years. Had his eldest son not volunteered to share with his sibling, it would be a chair. It’s a bed that may have been made from Acropolis rocks it’s so uncomfortable. There are no visitors save a tearful child. 

He recalls his abject misery when he told this sorry tale to Louisa and the realisation that what was home, was no more. That he couldn’t see a way back whichever way he looked and it didn't frighten him as much as he had thought it would. His wife’s proximity now feels strange to him, he’s sat on these boards more times with Louisa. 

‘I went to Athens because you were spending more time with her than me and I thought you’d get over this… infection,’ Dimitra waves her arms theatrically and he looks at her curiously.

"Your reasons were also another man.” Spiro deliberately doesn’t ask, but quietly states what he knows, but wishes he did not, from words his youngest should not know.

“What I did there has nothing to do with you. I have never asked what you got up to with your mistress.’

‘She’s not my mistress, or a disease…’ Spiro’s protest is cut short by his wife’s finger on his lips and he stops, seeing pain in her eyes that is surely echoed in his.

‘…I don’t want to know. You fixed her home when there was chaos in ours. Shared her table. That is all very intimate, like a marriage ought to be.’ His wife gently removes her wedding ring, ‘I don’t want you back, Spiro, unless it’s to see the children which you can anytime but we end now, for all our sakes.’

'What will you do?’ Spiro watches her roll the band of cheap gold round in her palm. He had expected to be the one to end this.

‘Visit my family lawyer in Athens.’ 

‘Nobody divorces in Corfu,’ he states, ‘it’s expensive.’

‘So you’ve found that out too, hmm?’ Dimitra eyes him and he looks at his feet, twists his cap, ‘My family can pay, we have some friends who did this on the mainland.’

‘They’ll be very happy, they never liked me anyway.’ Spiro feels relief at never having to see his stern in-laws again. There is no point denying their feelings for him. No matter that he gave them grandchildren, he is a mere taxi driver and they are farmers with land who, like their daughter, view Athens as a superior abode, though he can’t see it himself. She had never settled into island life.

‘They will be disappointed, but it will pass.’ She exchanges her anger for practicality, ‘I can’t live my life. Mrs Durrell cannot, and you are the reason why we cannot. I am deciding for us because I want to be free.’

‘You sound like you had this planned.’ Spiro says sadly.

‘A little. Today I had time to think when I was walking home.’ Dimitra stands up and brushes her skirt, ‘I did love you once but we have never loved each other like you and Louisa love each other. I am not blind. It won’t be easy though. You see her as perfection, she is not.”

Spiro says nothing to this. He’s aware of Louisa’s faults, but he’s not breaking confidences.

'Do you, did you meet someone?' He hesitates to say this and is not sure what purpose the question has anymore. Perhaps it relieves him of guilt or that he longs for her to be happy.

'I will petition the divorce, as I should.' This is all she shares and her face gives away nothing to him. 

His estranged wife allows him inside the home. The last time he’ll enter here as her husband. Dimitra observes that he’s outgrown this house in the past years, his emotions filling the space. The memories of arguments fought taint the shadows, ‘Will you be at Mrs Durrell’s house? Can I bring them to see you?’

‘Yes, of course, they will be welcome.’ He disappears into the spare room where he’s been sleeping to collect his belongings, pausing to look in on his sons, but he doesn’t wake them, ’I’m sorry I let you all down.’

Dimitra becomes businesslike. ‘There’s a war coming. If we are to separate, I want to do that now before life gets more complicated. You need to think about her, maybe you should go with them if they return to England.’

‘They may not.’ Spiro gathers up his bag and takes a last look at the room.

“Fools if they don’t,’ She mutters and Spiro is inclined to agree, though he thinks of his sons and how they’ll manage here too.

She puts her wedding ring on the mantlepiece as he leaves with his small bag of clothes. Only once the door is closed and she’s heard the taxi drive away, does she weep quietly over the wasted years of marriage. She doesn’t think she can face Basil when he taps at the door but lets him in any way, grateful for a distraction and knowing he is making plans to leave. In the morning, she will write to her widowed childhood sweetheart in Athens, the man she often wished she married.


	2. Chapter 2

When Spiro wakes up, it’s lazily. He thinks that he may have found heaven. The bed is beautifully soft, the reflection of water ripples on the ceiling meditate him to peace, until the unfamiliar and familiar collide with a jolt of panic that comes from a deep and restorative sleep. It takes him a moment to realise where he is. What on earth is he doing at the Durrell’s villa at - he grapples on the nightstand for the time - 5 in the morning? Why is there a dent in the pillow next to him? 

Echoes of the days past comes back to him. The picnic and his arrival here on the polite pretext of fixing the zoo. Had he said anymore, he would collapsed under the weight of his feelings. Now his bones sink into the mattress at the relief of no more weary lies. Undoubtedly there will be hell to pay from Dimitra’s family and his own will be sad. They were never sure of his union, but it doesn’t mean they approve of his actions. He thinks little of gossip, for there will be much, as there has been over the years. He’s become adept at ignoring it until the rumours of who his wife may have seen in Athens reached his ears.

At some point in the night, a restless Louisa, as wakeful as he, had laid beside him. Then he felt able to tell her in the privacy of his haven. He had wept over all that had past, his crimes and his wife’s, and the anticipation of what was to come. Exhausted, he fell asleep, wanting nothing more than to sleep in a comfortable bed with her, touching. This is the reason for the dent and why he can smell the scent of Pears soap on the pillow. He hears movements in her room below, the soft closing and opening of a door.

From his erie in the attic, Spiro can see distant Albania. Hazy and increasingly threatening, he contemplates it’s presence as the sun breaks through the clouds and floods the bay with dappled light. Time, he instinctively knows, is running out and he wonders how much longer he’ll be in this house with this family he has come to love so much, with Louisa with whom he wants a future.

He could hide her but what of her children? He’d trust her to stay from sight but he can’t contain her brood. What if he is conscripted? She would be alone. However heartbreaking it is, he knows that she is safer in England until this is over. They have waited four years and he’ll wait a lifetime, he doesn’t know how to persuade her of this. He too could be safer, he only wishes they had more time.

Unable to sleep now that his worries about the future have taken root, Spiro washes and dresses in his trousers and vest, laying his shirt out neatly on the bed for later. He slips through the still house and quietly makes coffee. Roger paws him for a biscuit and disappears upstairs to find Gerry. 

On the terrace, it’s a different mood completely, as if war is non-existent. Spiro sits peacefully under the vines listening to the birds singing. He smiles as Gerry’s zoo comes to life and hears the waves slap against the sea wall. How can this possibly be destroyed? He is chilled through by the thought of conscription, he never wanted to the first time, understanding the views of pacifists. He notes to speak to Alexis about ambulances and travelling to England. Just in case. 

He must have dozed in the corner for he’s certain that he’s dreaming as his eyes flicker open. They alight on Roger first, who has collapsed by his feet. Idly scratching the dog’s head, Spiro is stunned into wakefulness by the sight of the woman who has haunted his dreams for all these long years. He has seen Louisa wear many things from the simple beauty of a green evening dress to her pretty daywear but she’s going to break him before the day is out, he’s certain of it. The swimming costume is nothing like the sailor stripes she once wore. Her wardrobe is one of many changes he has noticed since they met.

He hesitates, clearly she hasn’t spotted him in the corner. Why would she even look? She left him asleep. He can’t really move from his spot without being seen and he’s sure she’ll be embarrassed. 

She is poised on the wall, arms vertical above her head and with a gasp, she dives into the sea below. Spiro blinks, glued to the spot until he hears her shout. This time his legs spur into action. He grabs the robe she’s dropped on the wall and races down the steps to the jetty, prepared to leap in and save her. His heart slows down as he sees her roll in the water onto her back with a delightful, happy grin.

A look of consternation washes over her face as she spots him and he turns to leave, ‘I am sorry. I thought you were in trouble,’ Spiro shuffles his feet on the warm stones, uncertain, despite her close proximity last night.

‘I swim most mornings before anyone wakes up,’ Louisa explains and then ducks under the water, affording Spiro a view he hopes is only for him. He lingers, partly through love, and so nobody else disturbs her. Or sees her. ’You don’t have to leave on my account.’

With a sigh, for he knows he is doomed by his heart and his libido which he ignores as a gentleman must, Spiro sits on the jetty, bare feet in the water. It’s impossible not to watch her. This brave, challenging side to her is one that he’s only caught glimpses of when they are alone. It is always hidden in front of her younger children and guests, probably even Hugh and Sven now he thinks about it.


	3. Chapter 3

Why on earth is she telling him to stay? There’s no way she can get out of the water without being more indecent than a widow ought to be. A widow whose four-year crush has moved in, and in whose arms she lay last night when she’s no idea what has happened to Dimitra. Her crush that’s just arrived to save her from drowning. 

She forgives herself. Her chastity has lasted since her husband died. How she’s managed to do this when there have been opportunities galore with Spiro is purely down to her respect of the man and his principles, at least physical. She often wonders what chaos would have been caused at the circus had she kissed him.

Would he had returned to his wife had their lips met, would that have been enough? She’s wished it was, regretted that it wasn’t and then agreed that she might not want a man so fickle. This tentative assessment settles and quells her frustration over his return to Dimitra’s arms. At least until the picnic when she saw just how unhappy they were. Even she felt sorrow for his wife, both of them placed in an equally impossible position because of their love for Spiro. She supposes his stay and the absence of his wedding ring have a meaning but she’s waiting to hear from him, not the island gossips.

Spiro’s dark eyes are watching her now with an expression she cannot read, but he makes her burn from the inside out. He has this ridiculous effect on her, and she’s smitten. Who on Earth gets giddy at the sound of a car for goodness sake? After all these years, she’s still like Margo in the throws of a crush. She longs for the brevity of love that her children seem to enjoy. 

Louisa swims further out, trying to concentrate on her strokes, but distracted by his presence until she tires and must consider her return to land. Thankfully he had the foresight to bring her scruffy old robe on his life-saving mission, but it's not where she can reach it from the water’s edge. 

‘My robe!’ Louisa breaks the charged silence and points to it, lying where he has neatly folded it on the stones, ‘be a gentleman and bring it over please.’

Spiro takes his time to move, ‘This?” He picks it up, runs it through his fingers, ‘Bests you come and get it.’

Damm him and his grin. ’If you were a gentleman…’ She teases back, the tug of a smile on her lips gives her away.

He pretends to think about this, his hands on hips, the robe now flung over his shoulder, confidence personified, ‘Didn’t you know? I have given up being a gentleman. You will have to come to me.’

‘Well, if you insist,’ Louisa acts ballsy but inside her heart is beating. This bloody costume failed her ‘would she let Margo leave the house in it’ test. Spiro wasn’t meant to be here but she’s rather liking the tiny break in his calmness as she duels with him. To anyone else he is unbothered but she can see him questioning her even from here. Is this evidence of love? She supposes that he is her favourite study, often much preferred to a temperamental offspring. It’s all very well him smouldering at her for four years, though she’s yet to fathom how he can do so in a vest.

‘Are you here for good?’ Louisa holds her breath and then sighs as he nods, holding out the robe, allowing her to tie it up. He watches her and she has come to know that purposeful look. 

“Louisa,” Spiro begins carefully, “We have to talk about the possibility of you and your family going back to England. There is almost certainly a war coming.”

She smiles brightly as if talking to a toddler, “We may not have to do that.”

“When did you last listen to the wireless?” Spiro asks, knowing the answer already.

“I didn’t know we had one.” Louisa admits. “Oh alright, yes, we have because you fixed it for us but where it went after that… “ She lingers on the memory of that evening and then with a shake, brings herself back to the present. "I can't bring myself to think of us leaving here. Of me, of you".

“We shouldn’t waste any more time.” Spiro draws her into his embrace as she shivers, “Theo is worried too. So am I. If you leave in a rush, we have no time to make plans for our future.”

Oh! Louisa hadn't expected him to speak of their future. She hadn't considered anything such was her fears. She's moved that he cares so much and nods, determined not to cry.

‘Next time you swims, I come with you,’ He looks down at her, ’you’re too beautiful to swim alone.’

‘You suggest that I will be leapt on by a hoard of lusting men…’ She teases, even if they both know they must return to making plans.

‘No, just this one.’ And finally, Spiro kisses her. It’s all she wants from him. Like everything to do with Louisa, Spiro throws himself into it with all his heart. 

‘I’ve never seen you like this,’ he admits, pushing her hair back with his fingers.

“I didn’t mean to not think about the war, it’s just I’d prefer to not. It isn't very responsible is it?” She tries to explain her cowardice but can’t think straight.

‘…yes… no, I mean…not so English? A bit crazy?’ Spiro frowns as he tries to think of an appropriate word. Louisa loves him all the more for trying, she can’t master much beyond basic Greek but she thinks she’ll try again if he’ll teach her. If it means she can stay.

‘More Greek? You must be contagious.’ Louisa giggles as he pretends to look insulted. She distracts him again with another kiss, before taking his hand and pulling him fully clothed into the water, laughing as he yelps in surprise.

And so begins his first day in the madness of the Durrell’s villa.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of the penultimate episode didn't sit well with me, so I've changed it...

Spiro rubs his throbbing hand and instantly feels the shame that comes when a man unused to violence has struck out. He thinks of all the reasons why he shouldn’t do this. He’s theoretically left his wife and doesn’t care much for whom she takes up with, but only for his children. He’s been taken for a fool. In his heart, he knows it’s not the family to blame, it’s his wife and this idiot Basil, but they’re all staring at him aghast. What did they think he would do? Hug the man? 

Spiro's heart sinks to his boots as Louisa watches him, her eyes filled with tears. He hears himself speaking to her and to their friends but can barely distinguish Greek from English in his mind. Furious and embarrassed, more than he can articulate, he turns to hide away like a wounded animal.

Theo looks very concerned as he examines Basil’s face, ’That wasn’t fair Spiro, it’s hardly Mrs Durrell’s fault…’

Louisa curses Spiro’s dammed Greek pride as the man pauses at Theo’s words but continues to walk away, muttering something in Greek that makes Theo start up surprised. Drawing herself to her full height and looking at the stunned faces of her two boys, Louisa hands her bag to Florence, ‘Wait for me, this won’t take long.’

‘Mother!’ Leslie warns her, and then turns to their friends, ‘I feel more afraid for Spiro. Do you think I should go?’

Florence shakes her head, ‘They need to sort this out themselves.’ 

Gerry sighs and thinks of the uncomplicated lives of animals.

Angrily, Louisa runs down the alleyway into which Spiro has disappeared, cursing that he knows this place so well for she’s no idea where it leads. People are going home from the film so he’s hard to find, swallowed into the crowd. She feels her anger subside and then rise like a tide as he comes more elusive. Her feet ache. She’s secretly been terrified he’ll leave her at any given moment, this precious love seems as fragile as any house of cards. It seems like her fears came true.

Impulsively she walks left, away from a road down which where his house is. She can’t imagine he’ll go there. The alleyway twists and turns, there’s nobody here. It only makes her more angry with him for vanishing and with herself for following. She’s about to give up, but in the darkness she sees the outline of his taxi and hears his voice from the shadows. He sounds firm but weary, ‘Go home, Mrs Durrells.’ 

“Why?” Louisa demands in the direction of the car because she can’t see him, yet. There’s a closing of the taxi door and Spiro walks around the bonnet towards her. She can see the whites of his dark eyes looking at her, his face is sullen, she knows that look. “…so you can go back to your wife?”

“I am not her husband anymore,” Spiro growls. “I am nobody’s man.”

She steps forward and stands on the running board of the taxi as if to claim her space.

‘You don’t need to care about me anymore.’ He grouses, digging his hands in his pockets.

‘Of course I care about you you ridiculous man. I’m exhausted, my feet ache and I’ve followed you down this rabbit warren, how can you possibly consider that I don't care about you?” She blazes at him, “I care too bloody much.”

His mouth is against hers in seconds and it takes her a moment to catch up. His hands creep into her curls, down her back and around her hips, holding her close. She’s scratched his neck and pulled at his jacket, felt his body press against hers and knows what he wants from her. In all these weeks as they’ve stolen kisses, she’s never been kissed by him like this, with absolute need. They bodily crash into the side of the car as he manoeuvres them, both seeking more contact.

As if suddenly aware of his actions, he stops. He’s breathing deeply, looking at her with a need she’s not seen before. She wants him… oh, she's a fool to love such a proud man and yet she loves his passion. Then, as quickly as the spark lit up his eyes, it is extinguished. 

‘I’m sorry, this is not how it should be.’

‘Then please, let’s start again.” She pleads, her angry evaporating as she regains her thoughts. Tentatively, slowly, he draws her close, this time with passion, trading pieces of his heart with hers. She’s certain that there are people passing but she can’t care less. 

He holds her quietly for a few moments and the speaks into her hair, ‘I am too angry at Basil and Dimitra, you must not listen to me.’

She sighs and looks up at his face, ’But we did listen, Spiros, and it doesn’t give you the right to blame us.’

‘Basil is your family,’ He points out and at this, it is her turn to feel angry. It’s never been directed at him and her needle sharp understanding of him is nothing like any argument he has experienced with Dimitra. He knows he has overstepped a line but he can’t retract the words he said, but he tries, ’We said we wouldn’t argue anymore…’

‘… that was before you started blaming others for what was already broken. I had no idea what Basil was doing If I had you might have credited me with resolving it,’ Louisa retorts furiously. ’Your wife was your family until you decided you’d like to keep me on the side, as the spare.’

‘I didn’t mean to fall in love with you.’ His confession stops her flow and allows her time to breath.

‘After everything we’ve been through, how bloody dare you place this at my door.’ Louisa sees him flinch at her language and she’s secretly thrilled by his shock; ‘Every dammed morning for four years I wait for you, l know you’re in a room or on the street before I see you, I love you to the bloody ends of the earth. I refused all men in my bed because of you, tell you my fears and dreams. Now you’re unforgiving of all my family?’ She takes a breath, ‘And that means you won’t forgive me.’

Louisa steps closer, eyes blazing, ‘Basil is responsible for his own actions. He is not bloody lemur or a pelican on a lead, just like your wife, former wife, whatever she is, is accountable for hers, not you. He is no more responsible for breaking your marriage than I am. Your wife is not responsible for you staying in her bed when I want you in mine, you are.’

‘I sleep in a room as small as the police cells. Alone. I’m scared I won’t see my children anymore.’ Spiro yells and watches as her face falls and tears glisten in her eyes. Stepping forward he gently takes her hands in his and kisses them, as he did all those months ago, and then gently kisses her lips. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers, knowing it is utterly inadequate and wondering if it’s possible to love anyone more for simply caring enough to challenge him. 

Louisa sighs, ’I didn’t mean to fall in love with you either.’

He sits them down in the door of the taxi, on the board, ‘Her family are rich. They all come from the mainland and farm olives. They’ve never liked this,’ Spiro pats the taxi, ‘they think it.. how does Leslie say? Flash. They tell me I can make more money in olives but I would be completely under their control. Dimitra would go back. She has a sweetheart there but she will take my sons.’

“Spiros…” Louisa gently takes his hands in hers, ‘we have a little money. My Aunt’s estate. If I can help...?’

He nods. ‘I think I may drive around a little. I need to be calm.”

She bestows a kiss on his lips and is gone. He runs his hands through his hair in despair as he hears her speaking to Theo who has come to find her, clearly directed by their noisy argument. She thanks him, there’s wobble in her voice that betrays her emotions. Then he hears her family chorus a groan when she tells them that they have to walk, Leslie offering to apologise. For this he is grateful, he cannot face their pity and sorrow.

Spiro drives his taxi to a beach. From here, he can see Louisa’s house. He sees the light in her room, the place where there’s space in the bed for him. He sees her silhouetted at the window for most of the night and feels her distant gaze from across the trees. He weeps over his wine, longing to be in her arms and wishing he had the courage to leave his miserable marriage years ago, damming his pride. How can it be that he's lost and gained so much so fast? To hear that she had fallen in love with him is enough to stop him drowning in all his sorrows.

He thinks over what he might say in Greek or English until Leslie finds him in the morning light. How is it that her son knows what he is thinking, his man who has barely left his teenage years? Then he remembers that he is his mother’s son.

Spiro still doesn’t have any words as he follows Leslie up the cliff path, carrying the boy’s bike, but knows he has to see her, that he has to start his future with her again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter moves to the end of the war. So many of you have already written great pieces of the war years and better researched than I could. Updating again post Xmas so have a good one wherever you are x

The Christmas tree looks mournful. It reflects her mood.

Leslie meant well. He had turned up last weekend on a rare weekend home from the RAF. Louisa watched from the living room window as he jumped out of the back of the lorry, cheered by his mates who then launched the tree at him. She felt vague relief at reuniting with her son, but fearful for the future. Much like the tree, she considered, as she stared at it.

It is sat beside the empty grate. Louisa is tempted to burn it for warmth but she had told Leslie it looked lovely. Paper lanterns droop from spiked branches that are more grey than green. Below it, is a scattering of hopeless presents. Louisa knows they are a poor show for she knitted, sewed and wrapped them herself. Despite peeking through the pile after Gerry and Leslie visited at the weekend, she sees no present for herself. They all know that there’s only one she wants and he is an ocean away. 

Impatiently she switches off the wireless. It brings news of further liberation and Germany capitulation, but it does little to comfort her. It has been two months since Corfu was freed from German occupation and still no word from anyone. She threw herself into war work but since that’s become scant, her emotions have thrown her from hope to despair.

Louisa berates herself for this malaise. She pulls on her winter coat and hauls herself into the wide, bitter skies of the East coast. As she walks, she dares to think of their last Christmas on Corfu. 

She immediately recalls Spiro playing the part of Saint Vasilis appearing at villa on Christmas Eve with a pack of children, including his two sons, all eager for sweets, cakes and a tour of the zoo with Gerry. She’d introduced him to the mock mistletoe she’d fashioned from rosemary and paper, stealing a kiss before the cries of impatient little ones had drawn him back to his faithful taxi, or sleigh as it was affectionately termed, decorated with a bright red blanket she had found.

Next day Spiro came back with Theo and his Uncle Leonadies. He deposited his relative at the long table and came to help her with dinner. He gave her a gift of flowers in exchange for the cake she had carefully made for him, thinking it would be easier to explain away, if he even tried to.

Louisa did wonder why she’d worried if he was able to spend the day with her family, a mystery that even Leslie had noted. They wondered how he had escaped his family and worse, had his wife even cared. Leonadies, his tongue loose from sherry, told her that his wife had taken his sons to her family and thanked Louisa for bringing hope to his treasured nephew’s life. He patted her hand when he saw the longing in her eyes and remarked, in broken English, how Spiro suited her too, and how the man himself offered a gentle smile.

Louisa pressed the flowers in a book and brought them home with her to place in box of memories of him and Corfu. It’s the next best thing after his presence. She treasures his photos and letters, clings to the joy they bring her. 

Louisa brings herself back to the present. Bournemouth has laid little claim to Christmas. There’s no sign of lights for it is still blackout and the beach is littered with rusting barbed wire. There’s an impatience in the air and muted protest about lack of seasonal cheer, but in these days of tentative peace, it's hard to fell happiness. Everyone knows someone who has suffered loss and for whom Christmas will never be the same again. At times like that, she feels selfish for, as far as she knows, Spiro is alive. 

Louisa chances a walk along the prom and watches the Home Guard practising. It’s a show rather than rehearsals for a real threat, since the word is that they’ll be disbanded in a few weeks. As they drop their sticks, they wave to her. She’s never spoken to them but she’s seen them almost every day.

Turning to the sea, she summons up all the strength she can and a smile flickers across her tired face as she remembers being held in Spiro’s arms. His gentle smile as he realised that she did want to find heaven with him, that she had waited for him alone and never Sven or Hugh. The soft sigh and her name on his lips as they came together, and the way she said his name at that moment. Again and again. She has strong memories of boarding the ferry with the hope that she’d be back within weeks or months and the memory of his lips on every inch of her skin. The tremble in her legs that made her briefly stumble and his knowing grin as she did so. At least she didn't know it was years, she would never have left.

Briefly, she is bathed in the warmth of his love. She opens her eyes, urging all the love she feels to free itself from her heart and fly across the seas to Corfu, praying it will arrive in Spiro’s soul. This has become her ritual each day and it brings her tears and smiles, rain and shine.

Louisa does not dare to think that Spiro has died. Who would tell her? If Theo is lost too then will anyone share the news? Louisa wishes that they had more time in 1939 to speak of such things.

She lingers a little longer for she senses a change in the air but she can’t place why. Her hopes have been raised and dashed so many times in her life that she refuses to lay claim to any emotion. Yet there’s something about this brisk day that feels different. This morning on waking, she had felt a brief fizz of excitement and turned her head to the pillow beside her; almost certain that she would see Spiro there. Her heart dropped to the souls of her feet when she realised the dream was false hope. The images felt tangible and real, as if his breath had warmed her cheeks and woken her. Still, at least the guilt she first felt in Corfu when she dreamt of Spiro, and not her husband, had long left her. 

As Louisa turns into her street, she pauses at the corner shop and feels herself drawn inside. There’s not much that she needs and very little that the elderly owner, Leo has to sell in these days of rations but she likes chatting to him and his wife. They were parted when sweethearts in the first War and endured years apart. They give her hope. There’s something about the elderly man that reminds her of Spiro in his efforts to welcome her.

Louisa picks up a few tins of beans. She’s started to sell knitted pieces in the shop and she’s pleased to see they’ve been sold.

“Like the proverbial hot cakes!’ Leo smiles as she approaches the counter, offering her the proceeds and a small box, “I have something for you. I thought you might give these a good home?”

Louisa is moved by the contents, a set of fragile glass baubles. She holds them up to the light and watches the colours reflect her face, and the shelves behind. Leo is beaming. “Thank you, they are beautiful, but don’t you want them?”

“We have plenty, I thought they might bring a little colour in our world.” Leo packs her bag and rings the till. “Any news from young Mr Spiro?” 

Leo still can’t get his tongue around Spiro’s surname so he has, in his absence, acquired a new moniker.

Louisa smiles to think of Spiro as her young man,“Sadly, not yet.”

“The post is terrible. It was in the last war. It’ll take a few weeks more to get itself ordered. Just like all of us. Mind you, there’s a London train due today, first for a long time, you never know what that might bring.” Leo gives a wise smile and wishes her a good day.

Outside, she feels better already, there is a shift in the air and she hopes the winds bring change.

Turning towards home, she taps at the door of a boarding house to check on her daughter and Florence. The kitchen is warmed by an ancient Aga that Louise is often called upon to tend when it tests Margo’s limited patience to its frazzled ends. Florence reports that Margo is out and Louisa confesses her relief to much agreement. Margo’s romantic notions of war and worse, her unchecked ramblings on what may have happened in Corfu, have had Louisa in despair. 

“I do not need my daughter fantasising that Spiro is sailing across the seas or living on a remote island with his taxi.” Louisa pokes the fire inside the belly of the Aga and slams the iron door shut.

“Sorry, it’s sawdust masquerading as tea,” Florence peers at the cup. Louisa could be fooled into thinking all was well, such is the bright smile that almost masks the sadness on her friend’s face until Florence impulsively hugs her, “I’m glad I have you. I know I’ve been a miserable nuisance at times.”

Louisa agrees, she’s not been any better, but always grateful for the shared confidences. She was stunned to find her friend travelling with her on that bleak Corfu day. The magnitude of her own situation occupied her thoughts to the point that she hadn’t considered Florence’s absence at the play until she saw her on the harbour with her suitcases and Adonis looking bewildered in her arms.

Florence pats her hands, “We are both loved and that means a lot when you’re at war, it keeps hope alive.”

“I’ve always felt so uncertain about love when it comes to Spiro.” Louisa smiles sadly, “At least until he wrote to me.”

Florence laughs, “I don’t know how those romantic words got past the censors! And anyway we all knew you loved each other, the pair of you in corners chatting, and gazing at each other across rooms and streets when you thought we weren't watching."

'For years. Despite Sven and Hugh, and Dimitra," Louisa looks mortified. “I barely had time to tell Spiro that I loved him. I suppose he had no choice.”

“Occupied with other matters…” Florence grins at her friend and it’s Louisa’s turn to laugh.

“Several times, and then a bit more.” Louisa shakes her head, “What would I do without you to make me laugh?”

She sips her tea. Florence is right, it’s awful. “Come on, let’s go to Lyons and see what they have. Can we go to the one by the station, Leo says there’s a London train due to today.” 

“Can we afford it?” Florence retrieves a rusting Oxo tin and quickly counts up the money. It’s her fare back to Corfu. Both women have been squirrelling away their funds. “Just about. What on earth are you doing?”

Louisa is rummaging through her handbag. She has a determination that Florence has rarely seen since her friend was parted from Spiro. “I’m going to find out about travelling to Athens and then I’m going to send a telegram, bugger the expense.”

“Let me get Adonis and we’ll come with you.” Florence calls for her son and they hurry down the street after Louisa who is all but sprinting. Florence sighs, wishing whatever hope her friend has, it maybe it is infectious.


	6. Chapter 6

The coffee shop isn't much. Their heels click on the bottle green lino and the table is made from dark stained, cheap wood, an aged laced table cloth adorns the top and it's bereft of condiments with rations still in force. From here, they can see onto the busy street one side, and across to the station on the other. 

There are a few customers, dressed in the regular civilian war uniform of brown everything. Louisa and Florence have taken to mending as many bright clothes from Corfu as possible. The only clothes she can't bring herself to wear are the white trousers and blouse and the spotted dress. Both remind her of Spiro and the only time she'll wear then again is if he returns to her. It's madness to be so sentimental in a time of rations but her heart won't let her entertain the thought of rescuing them from the trunk. 

Florence unfolds the last letter from her husband and gives it to her friend to read in the hope it'll stop them both worrying. “It’s not good there, Louisa but they’re through it. Just a little bit longer.”

“I wish I had your patience. I always envy that of you. Spiro had it in bucket loads as well.” Louisa sighs. 

“You still do, four children is enough to test the limits of saints, even Spiro.” Florence glances at her son, who is staring out the window and grins wickedly at her friend, “We have a lot of catching up to do. You, more than most, judging by those letters. I bet he’s a very passionate man.”

“Yes he is.” Louisa smiles dreamily.

“Oooh!” Florence glares in mock disapproval. “There speaks a woman who knows. You gave a very different impression over tea that time. Apparently you wanted him Very Badly.”

“Oh God, you remember everything don't you?” Louisa blushes, “I had a jolly good idea then, but we had no privacy unless we went to the beach.”

“The beach?” Florence rolls her eyes, “In all the years that I lived there, Alexis refused to entertain any activities on the beach. I feel faintly aggrieved that you’ve managed to do something I haven't. I suppose you did it in the taxi too?”

Louisa nods coyly.

“Blimey! I am impressed you held out that long.” Florence tries not to laugh as the nippy* cleans their table and Louisa pauses with a blush. 

“We didn't get to talk about what happened if… well, if the worst happened. It was all so quick. Suddenly he was there in the house apologising for hitting Basil, then…well, on the beach and it seemed like we were on the ferry. It felt so fast, those last days. If I had known, woken up to what was happening in the world, I’d have taken him to my bed a lot sooner and damm the consequences.” 

“Perhaps that makes your love stronger than most.” Florence observes. 

"Not in legal eyes. I suppose I can mention it now the worst is over. I didn't want to tempt fate, but I’d never know if he had been lost. I can’t imagine Dimitra would tell me. I realise Theo or Alexis would eventually find out.” 

Her friend looks puzzled, “Spiro asked Alexis to countersign his legal affairs. He removed Dimitra and added you, in all matters apart from the children, naturally. Oh Louisa! Crikey, I didn’t think to mention it but of course, the post has been so bloody awful, you may not have known.” 

“He said that he had sorted out his papers, but he didn’t say much more, I don’t imagine he could.” Louisa looks pale, “He really does love me.”

“That much was obvious from the moment he met you.” Florence looks at her like she's grown two heads, “The man was besotted. He told us all about you before I’d met you…bored us senseless over dinner.”

“… and then you met me and wondered what the fuss was about.” Louisa recalls as she stirs her coffee, “I was very rude, and hungry.”

“You were nervous. I was rather intimidated by you. This woman who moved across Europe and stole Spiro’s heart. Goodness knows he was so unhappy with her but I didn’t think you deserved him. He’s such a dear friend to us. And maybe I was a little jealous of your children… entirely my problem.”

“No, it wasn’t, really. I didn't listen.” Louisa watches Adonis and winces as she remembers prattling on about her children, ignoring the sorrow of the woman serving her tea. "I have learned a lot from you and that little boy."

Both women briefly get lost in their own memories of Adonis's birth.

"The day he was born, Spiros held me for the first time. Hugh was being an idiot, insisting that we'd go back to England if we married which was the very thing I'd tried to escape. When Spiro was around, I felt safe, that the world was alright." Louisa muses, “Did he really talk about me?”

“He couldn't say a word at home. Dimitra was probably always worried word would get back of her adventures.” 

“I don’t blame her in some respects.” Louisa picks at a loose thread on the tablecloth, “I came to rely on Spiro, talked to him about everything even Lawrence, Sven and Hugh. One day I knew that he was the only man who could measure up to Lawrence, maybe outrank him. Sven and Hugh never really stood a chance. Nobody did. I’ve been in love with him for longer than he knows.”

“You’ll get the chance to tell him soon.” Florence collects the cups and smiles as Adonis climbs onto Louisa’s lap for a hug. “Let’s keep it under our hats until we know for sure.”

Louisa nods and then laughs as Adonis takes of his school beret and looks inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *nippy - waitresses in Lyon's coffee shops were apparently called a nippy.


	7. Chapter 7

Spiro inspects the car and then nods a grim approval at the dockhand before handing over a carefully counted handful of bank notes. A smile returns to his face when he slips into the driver’s seat and starts the engine with a roar. He feels somewhat victorious at winning his own private war across the seas. Beside him, his passenger looks perturbed. In the back, Dr Petridis tries to contain his excitement at being in the same country as his wife and son.  


“I’ve been guilty of stupidity many times, but this really takes the prize.” Larry turns to Spiro, “Do remember you’re driving in England won’t you?”  


Spiro grins, tips the brim of his hat, “Oh course, Mr Durrells.”  


“And we may yet coast to Bournemouth on fumes. That’s the last of the bribery funds.” Larry pulls his army issue hat down over his ears, “It’s bloody cold too.”  


“It’s ekpliktikós.” Alex yells, ‘Wonderful!”  


Larry grouses, “I still think the train was more sensible, if it was running.”  


Spiro laughs as he steers the ancient car away from the docks and onto the main roads. He wants to race towards her, and to freedom, but takes careful heed of Larry’s advice as they find lodgings for the night.  


Over a frugal, but welcome, meal, the three men are quiet. “Am I mad?” Spiro breaks the silence.  


“We’re the three unwise men.” His friend retorts with a smile. “You are not mad Spiro, you’re in love.”  


"Speak for yourselves.” Larry swigs back a rough brandy and winces from the burn. “Someone has to stop you getting arrested for driving during the blackout to get to my mother.”  


“What if your mother has found someone else?” Spiro hesitates. Larry knows of the fledgling relationship but he’s careful not to overstep the mark with her eldest son.  


“Every letter I have from her asks after you, cites a memory that always involves you. When you were together she was always happiest with you and Leslie says she has a photo of you beside her bed.” Larry pauses for extra dramatics, “You’re mad, absolutely insane to think she’d find anyone else, Mr Halikiopoulos.”  


Spiro can do no more than meekly agree. They raise a glass of weak beer to the future. It reminds both him and Larry of the last meal with the family, and the people they shared that toast with on that emotional day. 

Just three months ago, when Spiro declared he was going to England, barely days after the war had ended, friends had responded by telling him that he was mad. All the more certifiably insane for having no plan as to how he may return and if Louisa was waiting for him.  


His Uncle Leonardies quietly pushed a wallet stuffed with money at him, the amount more than his nephew had seen before, so he might book return tickets to England and return to the villa in which he’d survived the last five years. As his doubts subsided, the enormity of his plan stuck home, just as Larry Durrell came back to Corfu, tired, beaten and homesick for his family. Spiro and the good doctor patched him up as best they could and in return the plans, Larry made this journey westwards possible.  


Thus, the taxi found itself stored in a barn in on the farm of Leonardies, wrapped carefully and waiting. It’s beloved owner stood on a deck watching the sea, seeking a sign of the English coast to remind him of his lost sanity. Even for him, this was a plan fraught with danger and he hasn’t really considered how he might return to Greece  


In the morning, they bathe and dress in fresh clothes.Over a breakfast of boiled eggs and with fresh clothes, Larry hopes that his letter reached them in time. “I’ll telephone before we leave.”  


As the winter sun weakly shines, Spiro feels a little less daunted. The journey now feels like a gentle reminder of foolhardiness, not the weight of stupidity that it had been. Larry returns as Spiro and Alex strap the last of the cases to the back of the car.  


“It’s odd, no answer at either house.” Larry scratches his head.  


“Maybe they’ve gone to buy cake?” Alex wonders.  


“And flags.” Spiro starts the engine and with hope, the three unwise men turned the car towards Bournemouth.


	8. Chapter 8

“We need to get home, you’ll be in trouble with Margo.” Florence notes the time.

“Goodness!” Louisa leaps to her feet, “So I will, I hope they got on alright. I have no idea what they could get me.”

Adonis looks up at his Auntie, “Spiro, of course! And my Daddy!”

Louisa pats his head as Florence looks embarrassed and mouths ‘sorry’ over his head, “You must miss your daddy very much.” 

“I shall tell him when I see him. I hear Margo on the speaker thing.” Adonis says confidently.

“Oh, she’s always on the telephone, telling anyone who’ll listen that she’s missing her family. I’m sure she does, just like you.” Louisa smiles at Adonis and straightens his hat. “Shall we go home and see if I have a mince pie for Father Christmas and a carrot for Rudolph?” 

The train whistle makes both women leap from their seats, it’s been days since the platform saw any trains and it’s chaotic. Louisa dashes to the bathroom as the cafe clears, whilst Florence chats to the girl behind the counter who slips a currant bun into the hands of Adonis who is entranced by her, and then, as child often are, runs to the window, pressing his nose against the glass.

“I’m sorry, he’s a fickle one!” Florence smiles affectionately.

“Upstaged by a train! It happens often.” The girl pours hot water into a coffee pot, “He’s a beautiful boy.”

“Not always… not now, Adonis.” Florence looks down at her son who has run across to her and took her hand, he's tugging her arm with surprising strength for one so little.

“Daddy!” Adonis repeats. “Lookit…” Finally the boy darts to the door, waiting for his mother, suddenly uncertain.

It’s Louisa’s shocked, pale face that tells the story to her son’s words, as Florence turns to see her husband on the pavement outside. Florence feels the ground give a little beneath her, then she reminds herself of the dignity she’s carried for all these years and that she is a doctor’s wife, emotion has no sense or dignity, and yet…

“Go!” Florence feels Louisa gently push her forwards. 

She lifts Adonis into her arm - not easily done at her age and in his fifth year - and speeds outside, calling her husband’s name. 

Louisa blinks back the tears. She’s never know the doctor or his wife to be outgoing or prone to moments of public affection but they are lost to each other. She knows she’d have seen Spiro anywhere but there’s no sign of him. She wipes away the tears on her face. It was too much to hope for. Maybe he’s decided to remain with his children after all. At some point she’ll find out from her friends who are chattering away. Louisa decides that she’ll speak to them later.

“Were you hoping to see someone?” The girl at the counter asks gently.

“Wishful thinking.” Louisa says softly. “I left him on Corfu with my heart.” 

Quietly she leaves the cafe as distant train doors slam and the steam all but disappears and the crowds depart, off to new adventures or home to lives well lived. She's taken back to that first day on Corfu, the sunshine and the itch of her hair as the hat sat too thick on her curls, the salt of the sea. Louisa muses on why this thought has crept in. Lost in her own world, allowing herself to linger on the years that past, she walks straight past the cars parked outside the station. The walk home seems so much longer as the rain starts to fall.


	9. Chapter 9

Louisa slips down the alleyway, a neat short cut that brings her out by Leo’s shop. She’s interrupted by the very man himself, “Mrs Durrell, we have post for you!”

“Oh goodness!” Louisa darts across the road, doing a double take at the car that is disappearing down the road. No, it cannot be? Nonsense, she's seeing people. Inside she collects her mail and takes Florence’s too, not that it matters now she’s seen her husband. She’ll drop it round later.

Louisa shuffles through her own post and recognises Spiro’s handwriting. Pausing, she rips open the one with the latest post date, unable to contain herself. She has to sit down as she reads the words, ‘hoping to arrive on Christmas Eve.’ Glancing at the calander over Leo’s shoulder, she realises the day. Of course, Adonis wanted the mince pie…”It IS Christmas Eve!” 

“Perhaps you ought to be at home?” Leo suggests with a gentle smile and his wife, standing beside him, nods. 

Louisa thanks them, grabs her bag and runs. Was it Spiro in the taxi? 

Breathless, she sees no car in the late winter evening. Louisa feels her heart sink to her feet. But Spiro said today. Leo seemed to know something. She felt it, how can it be?

In fact, home looks just as it always does, lights off, cold and dark. That’s hardly fair, she tells herself. Detached, better than they had before, with a door in the middle and in any other life, she’d be grateful. It’s too big for her alone, but erratic visits from her children, apart from Larry, help her to justify it’s place. Opening the garden gate, she spies the twitch of a curtain and wonders if next door’s cat has sneaked in again.

The door opens before she gets to it. 

“Hello Mother!” Larry leans against the frame, looking perfectly calm as if it’s five minutes since she last saw him, but she knows the twitch around his eye, the slight strain to his composure and he’s the one to sniffle into her shoulder, “I missed you!”

Behind him. Margo, Leslie and Gerry are there to welcome her too. “We’ve got leave,” Leslie grins, straightening the tree. “It’s still alive!”

“A whole week!” Gerry nods as he towers over Margo.

She feels comforted but aware of a tinge of disappointment. “Did you know Doctor Petridis is back?” Louise tries to enquire, “However did you get here, Larry? By train?

“Not quite like that,” Larry murmurs with a glance at his siblings. 

The tree looks a bit better for their company and then she remembers Leo’s gift. “Oh, I’ve got some lights from Leo. He owns the shop. And your letters too… and some from Spiro.”

Margo clears her throat, “About that…”

“There’s a tradition in lots of countries about presents being given on Christmas Eve,” Leslie explains. 

“So we thought we’d do the same,” finishes Gerry.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Louisa looks doubtfully at the sorry collection and finds herself guided to the hall by Larry.

In truth, she guessed already what she might find, but she’s never seen her home more beautiful for his presence within it. Louisa can do not more than utter faint words. She feels hopelessly unprepared, and horribly formal,“Hello.” 

Spiro nods his head and touches his cap, “Louisa.”

Later she was thankful that Spiro had the sense to move when he did, ready to catch her when her legs trembled in shock. Up close, he’s as she remembered, under the neat beard and layers of clothing. “Happy Christmas, Spiro” 

“Happy Christmas,” Spiro looks up at the weary bunch of mistletoe that Leslie probably hung in hope. “Shame to waste this.”


	10. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, appropriately slushy for the time of year.

The children, well adults really, slip out to the local pub and stagger home to Margo’s. 

Louisa takes Spiro to her room, their room because the bed, big enough for two, but small enough so they always touch, has been waiting for him. He hesitates, confess to heartbreaking dreams and she simply draws him close, towards a future that’s brighter than the darkness that's past. 

Spiro never forgot how she could take his breath away at the most inopportune moments. Everything she does is beautiful. She takes his hand, says his name, and he shows her all that he means to her. 

In the morning, she wakes, wrapped in his arms and vows to never want for anything more. He mutters into her hair, “We could go out for a drive later.”

“What sort of a drive is that?” Louisa melts into his sure and certain touch.

He chuckles, “Am I mean to ask where you want to go?”

“Heaven,” Louisa teases.“We don’t need a car for that!”

He sits up then, looks at her, “I love you.”

She touches his face, stupidly nervous, given they’ve spent a night together rediscovering each other. He’s almost to fragile to her. 

“I’m not going anywhere without you.” Spiro says softly.

“What about Corfu?”

“We’ll go back in the spring if you like? I have a taxi to collect and you have a family to meet.” 

She smiles softly,“I love you too.” 

There’s breakfast for two more at Margo’s house, they crowd around the table with Florence, Dr Petridis and Adonis who can’t stop staring at each other. Her children look worse for wear, but they cheerful and gently tease Spiro and Louisa. Leo and his wife drop by and they are delighted to meet Spiro at last. 

At home they string Leo’s lights around the tree, and Spiro slips an extra present for her underneath when she’s not looking. She says yes, of course, so he slips the ring that belonged to his beloved grandmother onto her finger.


End file.
